


Roadside Assistance Jigen

by author203



Category: Lupin III
Genre: Awkward, Damsel in Distress, F/M, One Shot, Short, Short One Shot, author is in love with a figment of someone else's imagination, character driven, character driven is code for nothing happens, i know nothing about cars lol, jigen is my favorite, jigen to the rescue, nothing happens, pops is my second favorite, pops is there too at the end, short and sweet, two strangers trying to flirt
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-27
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-09 20:42:03
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,567
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27742432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/author203/pseuds/author203
Summary: Jigen fixes your car trouble.
Relationships: Jigen Daisuke/Original Female Character(s), Jigen Daisuke/Reader, Jigen Daisuke/You
Comments: 6
Kudos: 24





	Roadside Assistance Jigen

**Author's Note:**

> Enjoy!

**Roadside Assistance Jigen**

_Ok. Ok. Don't panic_ , she told herself as the car jerked to a stop.

She was in the middle of nowhere. A long, lonely, stretch of a narrow two lane road, far from where she had come from, even further from her destination. With nothing around. No businesses, or houses. Not a gas station in sight. She hadn't seen one for quite a while. Only fields and woods and open space as far as she could see. The worst place for something like this to happen.

Stupid check engine light. Stupid worthless piece of junk. Stupid everything.

Ok. Fine. It was just a little car trouble. Happens all the time to plenty of other people. It'll be fine. Just calm down. Think.

She checked her phone, but of course there was no signal out here. No one to call anyway. She was too far from anywhere, or anyone she knew.

She still had half a tank, so that wasn't it. She almost wished it was. She would have at least have known what to do about that. She got out and walked around, just to be sure, but she already knew it wouldn't be a tire.

Well, nothing left to do but pop the hood. She lifted it with just a little difficulty. It was heavy, but not unmanageable, and she set up the little metal kickstand so it wouldn't fall on her head.

Then she just stood there and stared at it for a while. She was reminded of that old Buzz Lightyear meme – hmm, yes, the engine appears to be made entirely of engine. She laughed a little to herself, at the situation, at her luck, before frowning. She felt ignorant and helpless – a feeling she loathed. She knew it wasn't true, she knew how to do plenty of things – had lots of useful skills – just none that would help her in her current circumstances.

Best not try to take anything apart, she reasoned, she'd never get it back together again.

She checked her phone again, but still no signal.

When she got home – she was proud of herself for thinking _when_ and not _if_ – she vowed to look at the community college catalog again, maybe sign up for that basic mechanics course she had heard about. She knew how to check her oil and tire pressure, but that was about it, and neither of those would help her now.

She waited, because there wasn't much else she could do, and hoped that someone would happen along who would know enough to help her.

Or at least not harm her.

She looked around again, but there was nothing to see. The fields were plowed, but it wasn't quite time to plant yet.

She had seen plenty of murder documentaries. She hated them – making entertainment from tragedies – but her friends were obsessed and she had wanted to see what all the fuss was about.

This looked like a great place to leave a body.

She shuddered, and tried to calm herself down by remembering that it was usually someone they knew, and not a random stranger. It was usually the spouse. Unless it was the neighbor. Unless it was completely senseless and random. Why was she thinking about this? Why now? A woman alone should not be thinking about these things. She was starting to freak herself out just a bit.

She started humming a Christmas song to calm down. It didn't matter to her that Christmas was months and months away.

She waited for what felt like an eternity, but in reality was probably only a few minutes – half hour tops – when she spotted a little yellow car heading in her direction.

It was a long ways off, and while she waited for it to reach her, she debated on whether to let it pass or to try to flag it down.

It got closer. Close enough that she could tell a man was driving. That made her nervous. It shouldn't have she tried to reason. He was probably very nice, and the answer to her prayers right now. What were the odds he was a violent criminal?

The car drove past a ways, slowed, turned around, came back.

It pulled up alongside where she stood, and the man rolled down his window.

He was alone. She wasn't sure if that made her feel better or not. At least she wouldn't be outnumbered, she thought.

“What's your trouble?” he asked, as he looked at her. He had a nice deep voice, and she tried not to think too hard about how it would sound saying her name.

“I wish I knew.”

“Hmm. Well. Let's have a look.” He pulled off to the side, parked.

Her heart beat a little faster as he opened the door and stood up. He dropped the cigarette butt that had been hanging from his lips, and ground it out with his heel.

He was tall and thin, and very nicely dressed. She took that as a good sign, but wasn't sure why. But he at least didn't look like a bum and that was somehow reassuring.

He tilted his hat up a bit to get a better look at her. She liked his hat, the shape of it. He was handsome, she admitted, and he carried himself like he knew it. She didn't care for the beard though, wondered what he would look like without it.

“Let's see,” he said as he came to stand next to her, looked down at the inner workings of her clunker, shook his head. “Hmm.”

“I don't know,” she started. She was going to say she didn't know what was wrong or how to fix it, but she stopped. If she knew what to do, she wouldn't have been sitting there when he happened by.

“That's ok.” He shrugged out of his suit coat, handed it to her. “Here.” It smelled like tobacco and aftershave. He took off his watch, handed that to her as well. She noticed the brand, a luxury one she'd never dream of even thinking about purchasing.

Who was this man? Where had he come from? Where was he going? What was he doing on this road that led to nowhere? And how did he, a man in this suit, with that kind of watch, know how to fix an engine? Things did not seem to add up.

He rolled up his shirt sleeves and she blushed. She didn't know why. There was just something in the way he did it, watching her as he turned up the fabric. It was almost felt like his hands where on her sleeves instead of his own.

Absurd.

She looked away, cleared her throat, heard him chuckle.

“Right, then,” he said as he leaned over the engine. She tried very hard not to look at his backside when he did that. He was watching her from the corner of his eye and chuckled again, which made her blush even harder.

He knew what he was doing, and she didn't mean about the car.

He tinkered a bit, looking it over, loosened a valve here, frowned at something there.

“Look in the trunk,” he said pointing to the little yellow car across the road, “And bring me the red tool box. Should be – I think it's on the right side, probably under a sleeping bag.”

“Ok,” she said quietly.

“You can just leave that in the seat,” he gestured at his coat and watch she was still holding.

“Ok.”

Was that all she could say? _I don't know._ And _ok._ Was that the extent of her vocabulary?

She went around, opened the passenger side door, carefully folded his jacket and placed it on the seat. She laid his watch on top where he'd be sure to find it, then went to the trunk.

It was crowded – crowded was too generous, it was crammed full – with all sorts of things. Dirty clothes. Cartons of cigarettes. Bottles of wine and whiskey, some empty, most full. Pots and pans, cast iron for cooking over a fire. Pieces of what used to be a fishing pole. Boxes of ammunition – that gave her a bit of a pause, why should he need so much of that? And more.

Why was a man so well dressed, obviously living out of his car?

She tried not to dwell on it, and just be thankful that he had stopped and was trying to help her.

She moved some stuff around, tried not to be nosy as she searched. She found the tool box. It was heavy. She hefted it – it took both hands – and staggered across the road with it.

“Thanks,” he said as he took it from her, lifted it easily with one hand. He set it on the ground, opened it, dug around until he found what he wanted.

“No, thank you.”

He nodded.

“For helping me,” she went on.

He nodded again.

“I appreciate it,” she offered.

He just nodded again, concentrating on the task at hand.

“You don't talk much,” she said, sounding a little exasperated.

“I talk when I have something to say.”

“You don't have anything to say to me?” she wondered.

“Plenty,” he said, tinkering a bit more.

She crossed her arms over her chest as she waited for him to explain. “Well?” she prompted after the silence stretched too long for her comfort.

“Not sure you're ready for that conversation, darling.”

She blushed with that last word. His voice, and the way he said it, with a little wink and a smirk. She shifted her weight, stood a little straighter, ready to meet his challenge. “I think I'm ready.”

“You think?”

“I am.”

“Just remember you asked for this.”

She was suddenly very nervous, but nodded, willed him to continue.

“Well, for starters, you're breathtaking.”

“What?” She had not expected that at all. She had expected a lecture on proper vehicle maintenance or the danger of traveling alone or something, she wasn't sure. But definitely not that.

“And in the words of Conway Twitty, 'I'd love to lay you down.'”

“Flirt,” she scolded, trying to sound offended. He was quite forward, saying such things to someone he had just met. But in reality she felt exalted. No one had ever said such a thing to her. And he said it in a way that didn't make her afraid of him. It was complimentary; not at all threatening.

“I'm serious.”

“Flattery can get you everywhere,” she smiled. She was starting to relax a bit. He seemed nice enough, and he was trying to help her. “Do you always tell women you just met – that thing you just said?”

“Not always. But if there was any traffic on this road, you could have stopped it. You stopped me,” he laughed.

She was not used to being complimented, and wasn't sure exactly what to do with it. She had never heard it put that way, but it made her feel warm and a bit off balance; and she preened a bit, adjusting the hem of her shirt, twirling some hair around a finger.

“You're just saying that.” It was a question.

“No. It's true. Like it or not. I don't guess anyone's ever told you?”

He dropped the wrench, and cursed while he tried to retrieve it. She didn't care for cursing, but she had heard it all before, and he was trying to help her, so she let it slide.

“Not like that,” she admitted. “Not in those words.”

“Too bad.”

“What do you mean?”

“Just that women who know they are beautiful, feel beautiful, and feeling beautiful makes them that way. Or something. I don't know. Read it somewhere. I know I'm not saying it right.”

“Sounds right to me. Poetic, actually.”

It was his turn to blush, his cheeks turning red under his hat brim. He turned away from her, focused his attention on the tool box a moment. “Um, try it now,” he said, his voice a little gruff.

She went to the driver's side, turned the key. It sputtered a couple of times, but wouldn't turn over.

“That's ok,” he assured her. “There's something else I can try.”

She came to stand next to him, watched him work a while. “You know, I think you're rather handsome, in a rugged sort of way.”

He jerked upright, hit his head on the hood, cursed. “What?” He went to rub his head where it throbbed, but stopped halfway, remembering the grease on his hands.

“Based on that reaction, I think you might have heard me the first time.”

“Uh, yeah. But what made you say a fool thing like that?”

“Because it's true, maybe?” she said, blushing again, but smiling when he did the same. “And turnabout is fair play,” she continued. It was sort of nice to see him rattled for a change. She pressed forward, “You are. And you certainly strut around like you know it. But I guess it isn't usually pointed out.”

He cleared his throat, said, “You'd be right there.” He tightened something and gestured towards the driver's door.

She left him there, and went to try again. It took a couple of tries before the car – she would not describe it as a roar or even a purr – whimpered to life.

“Great!” he exclaimed. “Just let it run a minute.”

She came to stand next to him again. “Where are you from?”

He was sorting things in the tool box again, didn't look up. “Oh everywhere, and no where. I'm here now.”

“I'm glad.”

He looked up from where he crouched by her bumper. “Me too,” he allowed. “Didn't know I'd get to help a damsel in distress. Made my day.”

She smiled softly. “My hero,” she said jokingly, but still meant it.

He blushed again, turned his head so his hat brim blocked her gaze. He closed the tool box, stood up straight. Nodded at the engine like he was satisfied. He put down the little kickstand, closed the hood.

“Now this is not a permanent fix by any means.” He pulled a handkerchief from a back pocket, starting wiping his hands clean as best he could. “Need a couple new parts, but this should get you where you're going or the nearest shop – whichever is closer. Shouldn't be more than a couple hundred I reckon. Anything more and you're getting ripped off.”

“Oh,” the sound escaped her before she could stop it. Her lip quivered; she couldn't help that. A tear slipped out, but he noticed before she could wipe it away. If it had been earlier or maybe a month from now, she might have been able to afford that. But not now. Now there was no way.

Maybe she could borrow it. Or put it on the card. She hated to do that. But she supposed this did qualify as an emergency; and the card was for emergencies.

“Here,” he handed her the tool box. “Put this back where you found it.” He paused a moment before adding, “Please.”

She took it from him, started back across the road. “I want to check one more thing,” he called to her as he went around to her driver's side, sat down there.

She put the tool box back, – it took a minute to make room for it – closed his trunk. He was leaning against her hood watching her when she came back.

“Thank you, again.” She didn't know what to say. She needed to go, but wasn't in any hurry to leave now.

This place was kind of nice. There were birds and it was green with new growth, and there were even some wildflowers blooming in the ditch beside the road.

“Sure.” He just stood there, watching her. He looked like maybe he wanted to say something, but he didn't.

They stood there a little awkwardly, for a little while longer. They had known each other for about an hour, maybe a little longer. Definitely not long enough, she thought, but she was certain she'd never see him again once he left.

He shifted his gaze back the way he had come, noticed a dot on the horizon.

Another car.

“Uh, I got to go,” he said, abruptly.

“Right now?” She wanted to say something. Ask for his number or something, she wasn't sure.

“Yeah.”

“How can I repay you?”

The car – the new one, the only one either of them had seen in a long while on this remote stretch – was slowly, steadily coming closer.

He looked at her with that smirk that softened her heart around the edges. “If you really want to help me, flag that car down, and stall him.”

“What?”

He was already in his driver's seat, rolled the window down for a hasty goodbye. He looked at her, smiled, said “Take care, darling.” Then he turned the car around, floored it, spun tires a moment before they gained traction, and he was off like a shot.

The other car – the new one – the one heading right toward her, was close enough now that she could see the outline of the lights on top. She got a sinking feeling as she realized she had been flirting with an outlaw for the past hour or so. But he had been charming and respectful – mostly – and he had helped her. It was the least she could do, she supposed. Return the favor.

Quickly, she let air out of a tire. She had a spare. She could get whoever it was he was running from to change it and that would buy him some time. Not much. But enough maybe.

She regretted not getting his name. When she thought of him, how would she think of him? Mr. Roadside Assistance? Man Who Called Me Darling? Nice Hat? The Bearded One? The Bearded Wonder? She laughed at that one. Maybe just a simple My Hero? That seemed to fit. And it had a nice ring.

The car was close now. Close enough that she started waving to get its attention. It slowed, pulled over.

The man driving – another man alone – asked, “Did you see a yellow Fiat pass this way?” He shifted into park, got out of his car.

He was tall. Taller and broader than The Bearded One. Clean-shaven, which was nice. With a strong jaw, broad shoulders. Sideburns. A trench coat. And a hat, very similar to _his_.

She was a terrible liar, but she tried anyway. “No.” He looked skeptical, so she changed the subject, rushed forward. “But I'm so glad you're here. I have a flat, and need some help.”

He shook his head slightly. “Not sure I have the time –”

“Protect and serve?” She tried to look innocent, helpless.

“Fine.” He sighed, sounding tired.

“Thank you, just ever so much.”

“Laying it on a little thick aren't you?” She froze, didn't say anything. He continued, “I know he was here. I saw another vehicle leave in a hurry. That's his cigarette butt in the dirt there. I wasn't so very far behind, and I'm closer now since he stopped for you.”

She was caught, and starting to panic slightly. Afraid, she blurted, “Am I under arrest?”

He chuckled at that, relaxed a bit. “What for?”

She shrugged. “Not sure exactly. Aiding a fugitive?”

“And what did you do to help him?”

“Nothing. He helped me.”

The officer just stared at her for a while, let her stew a moment before he started laughing. The whole situation was ridiculous. But then, anything involving Lupin or any of his gang always was.

“Um,” she started, still embarrassed. “Can you help me? I really do have a flat now.”

“And who's fault is that?”

She didn't say anything; just felt the heat creep into her face.

“Well, you did cut his lead down considerably. I suppose I have time.”

“Thank you.”

The inspector – she had learned he was an inspector, that he worked for Interpol, that he liked ramen, that he was after Lupin, that the man she had met was one Daisuke Jigen (Lupin's right hand, and world's number one marksman); this one liked to talk and had plenty to say – changed her tire, told her to drive safe as he left. She thanked him, apologized for lying and for the trouble.

He smiled, “No harm done. I'm always a step behind them. Your interference didn't change the grand scheme of things.”

“That's a relief, I guess.”

“Be careful now. Get that fixed.” He pointed to the tire.

She watched the inspector drive away, laughed a bit when he turned on his lights and siren and rushed to catch up to his quarry. She wasn't sure if he was being dramatic or trying to show off.

She put on her seat belt, adjusted the visor, jumped when something fell into her lap. It was money, enough to cover the repairs, and a little extra too. And a wildflower from the roadside. He had left them.

She hoped she might see him again. She wanted to see him again. To thank him. To get to know him better.

Daisuke. An odd name – but better than The Bearded One, she figured. She decided she would probably still think of him as My Hero.

She couldn't wait to get where she was going. She had quite the story to tell.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading. Comments welcome.


End file.
